Bateaux dans la Nuit
by Potterables
Summary: When a protest turns violent Enjolras is pulled from the riot by a mysterious girl from the streets. As they travel back to the Friends of the ABC, Eponine challenges everything Enjolras has known as he learns more about the people he is trying to save.
1. Chapter 1

1

Eponine:

Eponine struggled to push her way through the growing crowds that had for some reason decided to clog the entire stretch of Biding. She had known it would be busy, the market place that had taken root along the lines of the road made sure of that, but she hadn't expected it to be so crowded. As she walked she stepped on the toe of a woman who shouted obscenities after her as Eponine gave her best attempt at slipping through the crowd. She hated feeling so boxed in, usually she could duck and dive or at least slink into the shadows. Not today.  
Some kind of performance was taking place and seemed to be captivating everyone around her. People were stopped in the middle of the street, staring up at the actors who shouted across the crowd. She hadn't bothered to stop to hear their words. Instead she ducked her head down and focused on the job at hand.  
She had spotted her target a few minutes ago and had been tailing him ever since. She could read the signs anywhere, shoes polished a little too recently, a hand stuffed into the pocket where no doubt a wallet or fine watch was sitting. It was a trick she had picked up from her father and although the thought of him left a bitter taste in her mouth she couldn't deny how useful the skills he'd imparted had been.  
They used to walk down this same street and he would say to her, "Now look for the taps." She had been confused, wondering if some strange rhythm would be heard or if dancers were supposed to come out and perform. She had been confused right up until the moment she saw it. The small tap on the front pocket. The man they were watching had passed a group of boys, rags on bones who were begging for food, and as he'd passed he had made a movement, so quick and small that she'd have missed it if it hadn't of been for that tip off. His wrist flicked up to his chest and he had tapped the pocket there. "You see?" Her father had said in that rough voice of his. "Checking to see if something is there."  
"What do you think is there?" She had asked, staring up, wide eyed at her father. Convinced that there was no one as clever as him.  
"It doesn't matter, does it?" She'd nodded as if she'd understood. "Because whatever is there is clearly something worth protecting." He'd kept his eyes trained on the man in the suit making his way through the crowd. "And with these men, it's always worth a pretty penny." Eponine had smiled then, money had long been the drive of her family. It was what would buy them out of the Molins and into the Upper Class. It was all her father talked about, all he thought about and that seed had been deeply planted into the pit of Eponine's stomach.  
Now she trained her eyes on the pocket that every few seconds the man would tap. His left trouser pocket, not the easiest but in a way, that helped her. Any reason for the target to get comfortable was welcome. If they felt safe, you could convince them they were right and they wouldn't realise they were wrong until you were well out of sight. She saw her moment and took it. The man had quickly dodged out of the way of a questionable puddle on the ground and Eponine had taken that moment to sidle up close so that he bumped into her. "Oh I'm terribly sorry." The man had said quickly, not looking at her.  
"It's no problem." She said stepping in front of him so that he couldn't step forward. It was subtle but she could see his attention snapping up to her. "I don't suppose you'd be able to give me just a little-" The man quickly bristled and pushed her away so that she was pushed against his left side. "Oh but please! Have some compassion!" She pretended to plead, one hand clutching onto his arm so that he would focus on shaking her off, and not on the other hand that was slipping into his pocket. Finally he gave her arm an almighty shove and she pretended to be flung to the ground. He stomped away. She watched from the floor, her breath hitching just slightly as his hand patted his pocket. He walked on as if nothing had changed.  
That was a trick Eponine had taught herself. If a person didn't know anything was wrong, they couldn't catch you. So while it is all well and good watching the tap, it was more satisfying watching the target tap the empty wallet you had returned to its rightful place. Once the man was out of sight Eponine looked down at the handful of coins. She shrugged. It would do for now.  
Once again she turned her attention to the crowd and wondered if the throng would thin when she got past the stage. They really were making an awful lot of noise for a group that small. A woman beside her shouted to the men on the stage, repeating the words they were repeating. "A la revolution!" Eponine frowned, wondering what kind of play this was. Was she an actor, planted in the crowd? Two men Eponine recognised from the strip stood in front of her, completely blocking her way so she finally resigned herself to the entertainment.  
The main actor was quite striking, she had to admit. A shot of blonde hair that reminded Eponine of a young boy's, the tight curls creating a halo round his head. She half wondered if it was a wig. The clean, navy jacket he wore seemed fine, the tailcoats touching the back of his knees. He had paired this with a red waistcoat which seemed a little ridiculous but, Eponine supposed, for the theatre it wasn't too garish. His voice was rather enchanting. Although he was shouting his voice didn't seem rough, instead it seemed to be picked up by the wind and glide over the crowds' heads. "Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains. We see these chains every day, the taxes taking our money but exempting those who do not need it! We see these chains on those who cannot afford to eat, the chains are the streets upon which men who are born free sleep!"  
Eponine looked around and suddenly it dawned on her. The hard faces on the people around her, the way some women's eyes were filling with tears, the way others shifted glances nervously around them. It was no play. It was a protest. Dread filled her body like a pit, she had seen protests before and had walked through the streets strewn with bodies in the aftermath. She shouldn't be here. The boy's words were pretty but they were dangerous.  
"Silence is the image of death-and we see too much death around us. So we shall be silent no longer!" The boy raised his fist and suddenly a roar from the crowd erupted. The men in front of her were shouting at the top of their lungs, a guttural sound coming from every throat around her. And then she heard the shot. And madness descended.  
A few people screamed and as another shot rang out Eponine ducked, quickly standing up to see where the shot came from. Five policemen stood on the outskirts of the protest, surrounding the crowd from all angles and now they shot into the crowd. Eponine cringed as she saw a woman go down, blood spurting from the wound in her stomach. She dropped to the ground and suddenly the man who had been standing next to her had launched himself at the policeman, fists flying into his stomach and face. The officer had been caught off guard and went down quickly. The man grabbed his gun and suddenly the Officer's face had been replaced by a gaping wound. His face caved into the pavement and Eponine wasted no more time after that. She ducked down and used the other fleeing people as cover to make it through the crowd. An alleyway was a few metres to her right and she knew that once she made it there she would be safe.  
A wave of people had stormed the stage, fists raised and screaming some kind of feeble battle cry. Eponine watched with bitterness as the boys that had started this mess moved to run away. The blonde boy looked panicked, he had nowhere to hide and she hoped he knew that those guns would soon be pointed at him. Fear etched all over his face and he finally looked his age. Your pretty words won't help you now, she thought. Too many people were crowding onto the stage, men pushed each other and a few stragglers could be seen falling off of the side and into the crowd. Eponine was able to make it a few feet further in the direction she needed as space found its way to her. And then she saw him fall. The blonde boy had been shoved off the stage by the crowd and was now lying in a heap on the floor as people trampled over him. Eponine was near the stage having thought the crowd would provide good cover. Better for someone else to get shot then her. But suddenly she was torn, the boy had seemed so fearless onstage, his words igniting a passion even inside Eponine. And now, well he could have been one of the boy beggars on the street. He would die here at the hand of the officers, his pretty ideas dying with him.

A battle raged in her mind. On one side was her instinct to run, run and hide and leave this place. She hadn't even been part of the protest to begin with and she shouldn't die for a cause she didn't believe in. But then there was the other side. The side that made her dash through the crowd, hook her arms under the large shoulders and drag the boy out from under the feet of the crowd. He was heavy, too heavy for her to carry but he was out cold. She sighed, already cursing her decision as she pulled him through the crowd. She pulled him past two more bodies, an old woman with a wound in her right shoulder and a man who she assumed had once had a neck. Now he was just a head separated from shoulders. As they made their way through the crowd Eponine thought she could see the old woman's lips moving, forming a silent cry for help.  
Tearing her eyes away and focusing on the alleyway a few feet from them Eponine dragged the boy. His feet caught on the cobblestones but no one gave her any notice. The police were rounding up anyone they could keep hold of. The unlucky ones had been roped up with two officers standing as security, their guns promsing to bring anyone down that attempted a jailbreak. The other officers picked their way through the crowd, trying to grab anyone they could and shooting anyone that made too much trouble. Their guns were trained on the stage which was thankfully behind Eponine now. She grunted with the weight of the boy, sweat building on her forehead and hands making her grip weaker. Her arms screamed with exertion but now she had the alley in her sights. As soon as she could she flung the boy to the floor and rested her arms as she sank down the dirty wall to the equally dirty floor. Her breath was laboured and she glared at the unconscious boy who lay on the floor, his face squished against the cobblestones. She could only rest for a moment though, they need to get as far away from the square as they could. But this time she hooked the boy over her shoulders, dispersing the weight more equally allowing her to keep walking.

Eponine was confident in her knowledge of the streets but the events had made her weary and her legs were nearly buckling with exhaustion as the sun came into the middle of the sky. She was unsure where they were but thought they were far enough way to be safe. She sank to the floor, arranged the boy into a passable sleeping position, and closed her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Enjolras

His head throbbed. It really hurt. So much so that he was sure that he would scream. It felt as it lightning bolts were crashing into his skull. Or maybe it was more like someone was squeezing his temple. Whatever pain he felt, he couldn't think of anything else. A small part of him must have recognised the cold, hard ground underneath him as he tried to roll into a more comfortable part of his bed. He groaned as the movement caused his head to throb again.

"So you're alive then?" A female voice. That was strange, Enjolras thought. And then he was gripped by a sense of panic. The protest, those people, the guns. The police. He suddenly shot up, ignoring the screaming pain and opening his eyes to look around him expecting a prison cell. He had been standing on the stage, watching the terrible events unfold and then, what had happened? Surely he'd been arrested, he certainly hadn't made any moves to escape. Even when Grantaire had tugged on his arm, begging him to run away Enjolras had stayed put. He'd seen that woman fall to the ground. Someone had died because of him. He couldn't run away.

Instead of a prison he was sat on a street. A girl sat next to him. She had long brown hair that fell, slightly matted, past her shoulders. She was staring at him unabashedly and Enjolras wondered whether he was supposed to recognise her. She seemed to be around his age but her clothes suggested… well they were tattered and dirty. He didn't know any girls that dressed like that. "Well?" The girl said. He just stared back at her, confused. She sighed seeming disappointed. "I think I might have preferred you unconscious." She looked back at him again. "If you're not going to say anything I may just dump you back at the stage, see whether the police would reward me for bringing in the man that brought Hell to Biding."

"Who are you?" Enjolras said finally.

"I'm someone who saved your arse."

He looked around. This was a part of Paris he'd never seen before but he was certain he wouldn't class it as safe.

The girl rubbed her eyes quickly and stood up, brushing her skirts, a motion which Enjolras didn't think was necessary. "Well now you're alive and kicking I can go," She made a move down the alley but Enjolras quickly called her back.

"Wait!" He called out. "Where are we?"

"The backstreets of Lanet." She said, turning back a little.

"How do I get to Raicourt from here?" He knew his voice sounded a little whinier than it should. But he couldn't deny the panic he felt, he had been hoping that the name of the street would spark a memory in him. Bring back the lessons of geography from his youth. But it gave him nothing.

"You're a long way from Raicourt." The girl told him. "But that explains that suit." He tugged on the corners of his jacket self-consciously.

"Just tell me which direction to go." He asked.

"You wouldn't last an hour on your own." She said and he felt that perhaps she was taking some joy out of this exchange. "I could show you where to go…" She trailed off and it was his turn to sigh.

"How much?" He asked.

She paused then, weighing up the price in her head. She quickly came to a total. "8 francs." She said.

He balked, "8 francs?" He asked.

She shrugged and made a big show of turning away, "Well then, bon voyage!" she gave a little wave over her shoulder and he quickly shouted after her, "Okay!" He said. She smiled.

As he tried to stand up he finally noticed how much his limbs seemed to hate him. They groaned as he rolled over onto his knees to try and pull himself up to stand. "Well," He said through his exertion. "At least can you tell me your name now?"

"Clere." She said easily.

Enjolras extended a hand which she just scoffed at. It dropped to his side as he introduced himself. "Enjolras."

"Such a pleasure to meet you." She said dipping into a deep curtsey.

And then she was off, walking through the streets seeming carefree but making sure to keep close to the houses and small shops that lined the streets. The people they passed paid her no mind but all stared at him. He felt exposed in his fine suit. Clere seemed to notice the glances as well. After a few minutes they passed a man laid on the street and she bent down to speak with him. The man shot Enjolras a look before nodding and holding out his hand. Clere dropped a coin into his palm and then gestured for Enjolras to come join them. "Our lovely friend here is going to let you swap clothes with him."

Enjolras' eyebrows shot into his hair line. "What?" Enjolras asked.

"You stand out from a mile in that ridiculous coat and we need to blend in. After your little Napoelon act back there probably put a high price on your head. Does prison seem like a better alternative?" Her eyes had been suddenly shaded with a darkness he hadn't seen before in her. He quickly agreed and followed them both in a side alley.

As he stripped down to his shirt and under shorts he felt ridiculous. What was he doing? Who knew how many diseases lived in this man's clothes? Clere was smirking in the corner and he wanted to slap that look off of her. Only a perverse mind could find anything about this situation humorous. The man was around his height but noticeably thinner although, that shouldn't be a problem as the clothes he wore hung off of his shoulders. But he had a large scar that ran across his left eye, literally scarring through his pupil which had turned a ghastly pale grey. His other eye was brown and seemed to dart around as they swapped clothes. His hands were grubby and the bones seemed to be trying to burst from the thin skin that was tightly strung around them. The clothes were cold and damp but as they walked back out into the street, he could admit that he looked far less noticeable.

But he felt miserable. His brain still seemed to be swelling and bruises had begun to form on his back, they creaked with every step and he felt the pain coarse through his body. "How did you save me exactly?" He asked after they'd dashed across a road, risking the hooves of the horses.

"Well, if it wasn't for me you would have been trampled." She explained briefly.

"Were you at the protest?" He felt a shock of anger run through him when she scoffed.

"I wouldn't call that a protest."

"Oh no, what would you call it then?"

She shot a look in his direction. "A death wish."

He looked at his feet, the image of the blood spilling from the woman clouding his vision. "If the police hadn't…"

She cut him off. "What did you expect to happen? Did you really think a crowd like that wouldn't draw attention? Your words were treasonous, you do understand that treason is illegal don't you?"

"I'm not an imbecile, don't talk to me like that."  
"How should I talk to you?" She snapped. "Should I avert my eyes and call you sir like your servants at home do?"

"I don't have servants." He told her.

"But your parents do." She retorted and smiled when he had no reply. He couldn't deny how he grew up. But it was the privilege he experienced that he was trying to fight against. He shouldn't be treated as any less aware just because his father happened to be rich.

"Why did you save me then?" He asked.

She ducked under an archway that he had to quickly jump over to keep up with her. "I thought if I got caught I could trade you." He eyed her. Was he being stupid? She could be a trap. She could be leading him straight to the police. But what else could he do? He had no idea how to get back to the Café from here and he thought that if it came to it, he could best her in a fight. He would be able to recognise Voirat where the station was and if he sensed she was leading him there, he would shake her off. But he wouldn't engage her in any more conversation. He wasn't paying her to insult him.

They walked in silence after that, both stewing hate in their veins. "Where are we now?" He eventually asked as the sun started to wane. The streets all seemed to blend into one. Grey walls and cobbled streets. Everything seemed to be cast in a blue shadow, the people they passed included. It was a far cry from the neat, clean streets he was used to. Rats crawled along the gutter with the odd couple, occasionally Enjolras would make them stop when the pain got too much. Clere would sit next to him and stare ahead. Occasionally a carriage would pass and they'd have to cling to the shadows, hoping to blend in. Enjolras walked with an overwhelming sense of dread. He'd never had a feeling like it. He was a criminal now. In the eyes of the police at least. He comforted himself with the thought that all revolutionaries are initially called criminal before hero. He tried to invigorate himself by imagining what these streets would look like when he won. They'd been clean, the people would be happy. Earning enough to live comfortable lives, they'd be able to save and the decrepit remains of corner shops would be re-animated. He filled his senses with this image and tried to ignore what he was really seeing. The little girl with the swollen belly and fear in her eyes. The people who littered the streets, sitting in the stoops which they called home.

He watched as Clere looked around. She didn't seem upset or even a little concerned for the people around her. She hopped over the bodies of sleeping people and even stopped to pilfer some bread that was enclosed in a bag next to a sleeping woman. "You would really steal from her?" He had asked.

"Feel free to starve but in my world it's eat or be eaten." Her voice had seemed level but he noticed her hand move to rest on something concealed beneath her skirts.

Eventually darkness fell and they had to stop. "We're in more danger walking in the dark." She had said. "You're okay with sleeping rough tonight sir?" He hadn't deemed her dig at him with a response. Instead he had dropped to the floor, bundling up the man's coat underneath his head and closing his eyes. It was a battle but he eventually felt the waves of sleep rush over him.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Grantaire:

The protest had been a waking nightmare, he had been standing by the side of the stage, watching Enjolras speak and hearing the crowd roar in agreement. Grantaire had looked around to his friends with victory shining through his eyes, they would fight with us. We could win. And then the gunfire started. Without thinking Grantaire had leapt up onto the stage. He had to protect Enjolras. But the marble man wouldn't move, even when Grantaire was tugging at his sleeve, screaming for him to run with him, the boy wouldn't move. The crowd had gotten too thick on the stage and Grantaire knew that it was either run or die with Enjolras. It had been a close call.

Now Grantaire stared down the bottle in his fist. The group had gathered once again in their usual spot. The café in Raicourt, their little place of peace. But the mood was a dour one. Combeferre had been injured, trampled by a crowd and the rest of them had been split up. No one had seen Enjolras. No one knew if he was still alive. I should have stayed with him, was all that circled Grantaire's head. I should have helped him. And now his best friend could be dead.

"I almost wish he was." Grantaire had said to Joly a moment earlier. "At least then we could mourn."

"Ah Grantaire," Joly had said. "Always so pessimistic. Who's to say the marble man won't walk through those doors any moment now?" They both stared at the large glass doors at the front of the café. The sky was black outside and Grantaire knew the air was cold. Enjolras was probably freezing to death at that very moment.

When the boys had gathered once more there was a sense of loss, they had lost their leader but most of all they had lost that spark that ignited them. People had died because of their silly little protest and it had planted, very firmly, that feeling of doubt. Grantaire had known for years that all their talk of revolution was futile. Even after the Revolution, things hadn't changed. A King was back in power and the poor stayed poor. They should just be grateful that they had been born into the right families.

But then Combeferre stood up on a wobbly chair. "Enough!" He declared. "Enough moping! So the protest failed, we shall hold another one. But this time, we shall bring weapons. We shall defend the innocent that should not die just because they want a better life for themselves!" He was no Enjolras but his words did something to shake the cobwebs from some of the boys. Their ears pricked up and they listened. "We shall do everything we can to bring back Enjolras but, if the worst is true, what better way to defend his legacy than to carry on the work he began." A few hear-hears were sounded. "Innocent people died today," His eyes filled with sadness and even Grantaire started to pay attention. "They died at the hands of officers, enforcing a corrupt system which has killed every starving person in this city!" By this time Combeferre had the whole room on a knifepoint. "We cannot allow this to continue. We must fight back!" It was as if he was back at the protest again. The roar from the young boys mimicked the crowd and Grantaire almost felt that same sense of pride in his heart. But now he waited for the bullets to fly. If they didn't tonight, they would tomorrow.

Coufreyac, Joly and Grantaire sat together while the rest of the Friends made plans for bigger and better protests. "They're asking for trouble." Grantaire grunted, feeling the sting of the whisky hit the back of his throat. "If they shot at us when we were unarmed, they'll set us on fire if we bring guns."

Joly nodded, he felt uncomfortable with violence and the thought of his friends being perpetrators of it, his stomach felt unsettled. "We need to find Enjolras. He could stop this madness."

"Who's to say he's alive?" Coufreyac asked the uncomfortable question.

"Someone must have seen something." Grantaire said. "We'll go back to

Biding Square tomorrow and ask around. We'll get our answer either way." The boys shared a grim nod.

Biding Square was a depressing place that morning. The market which usually shone such bright colours from the grey stone buildings were nowhere to be seen. Fear could be smelt almost as strongly as the fires that burned in small groups. They picked their way through the street trying not to think about the red stains that ran from the square to the drains. There was no police to be seen but there was also no people either. "It's a ghost town." Joly noted and the boys had to agree. They walked up and down the square two times before they accepted that they were getting nowhere. Just as Combeferre was about to walk home, Grantaire walked up to a house and knocked on the door. "You can't do that!" Combeferre had protested but Grantaire just ignored him.

The door opened just a crack and a woman's head popped out. "What do you want?" She asked quietly, her eyes darting around them.

Grantaire breathed in deeply, fished out the old notebook from his pocket and pushed out his chest. "Excuse me Madame, but we're detectives looking into the perpetrators of the protest from yesterday."

The woman's eyes widened and she shook her head quickly. "I didn't have nothing to do with that! I don't care about revolution I just want to feed my family!" The intense panic wasn't what Grantaire had expected and he tried to calm the woman as she continued to plead. "I didn't do anything, I swear it I…"

"I believe you," Grantaire said, trying to make his voice as comforting as he could muster. "I just, we were looking for some information on the main speaker. The blonde?"

The woman had calmed but eyes him suspiciously. "Is this a trick? Are you trying to get me to admit I was there?"

Grantaire sighed. "I'm not going to arrest you, it's not you we want. We want the man who started it. The man who got innocent people killed." He heard Joly suck in a breath of annoyance at that but Grantaire just shrugged it off. "Help us and I will give you two francs." He fished out the coins from his pocket and held it out in front of her.

Suddenly her demeanour changed and she let the door swing open a little more. Grantaire could see two small children sat on the floor behind her. "I saw him getting dragged away from the stage." She said. "That's all I know." Grantaire smiled and let the coins fall into her hand.

"How do we find who took him?" Coufreyac asked as they walked away. "It could have been anyone, it could have been the police!"

"If you want you can go to the station and ask if they're keeping him there." Grantaire snapped at him. "But I'm going to head back to where the stage was and think about where he could have been dragged off to."

Coufreyac kept quiet and trailed behind him. Grantaire knew he was being rude and irritable but that was good, because he was. He had woken with a heavy weight pressing on his head, the effects of last night's alcohol, and was anxious to find Enjolras. If he was dead, his body had to be somewhere, and if he wasn't dead, then Grantaire would find him.

Grantaire always found him. When he'd disappear for days after an argument with his father, or when he would bury himself under a pile of books, it was always Grantaire who had brought him back. And it should have been Grantaire dragging him from that crowd. They made it to where the stage had been and Grantaire sank down to the floor. He looked around them. It really was an ugly place. The grey walls surrounded the opening and without the people filling the space it looked barren. Rats ran along the streets and scraps of old food fell abandoned on the floor. Where would Enjolras have gotten to?

"Look!" Joly dug his elbow into Grantaire's shoulder, pointing over to a corner of the square. A man sat in an alleyway. Around his waist was a bright red waistcoat. Grantaire stood up quickly, running over to the man and grabbing a fistful of his clothes, making the man shout in protest.

"Where did you get that?" He spat in the man's face.

"The girl! The girl!" The man struggled to speak from the shock of Grantaire's face suddenly in his. "She paid me to swap!"

Grantaire practically growled and ignored the shouts of protests from the boys who ran up behind him. "Jesus Grant, put him down!"

"What girl?" Grantaire asked, looking into the man's eyes which we wide with fear.

"She paid me to swap clothes with the boy!" Grantaire released his grip and smoothed and hand through his hair. The man sat up a little straighter in his stoop. "She had brown hair and he was blonde. I didn't do anything other than what she told me!"

"Grantaire," Coufreyac said. "That sounds like Enjolras." Grantaire nodded and looked back at them, ignoring the shocked faces they wore.

"So he's alive." Joly said.

"Or at least he was yesterday." Grantaire conceded. Then he turned to the man. "Tell me everything you know about this girl."


	4. Chapter 4

4

Eponine:

She had been awake since the early morning. As always she had woken with a start, the hands she had felt on her neck vanishing as she became aware of her surroundings again. They had been slow yesterday, only making it to Hillion, on the outskirts of the Strip. They would have to be careful going past there, they would be looking for her. She had hoped to pass through there by now. It was better to be as close to the Baileau District as possible. Everything was a lot safer there.

But the boy had been so slow. He'd dragged his feet and winced at every step. She could tell he had been banged up pretty bad in the riot, a purple bruise covered his right cheek and other marks lined his arms. When he had stripped off she had caught sight of the large purple spot on his stomach. She could understand his pain but he had to fight through it if he wanted to keep his freedom.

She watched him now, he slept opposite her, closer to the wall as she protected him from any passer-by. His porcelain skin seemed so out of place next to the scum lined pavement.

Her eyes looked up to the sky where a smattering of stars could be seen. There were no lamplights to mask the pretty diamonds here. That's what she hated most about the strip, the lamplights created an orange ceiling that replaced the sky, adding to the claustrophobic feel.

A few people had begun to wake up and she ducked her head, hoping that no one had noticed the fact she was awake. She couldn't risk anyone recognising her out here. 8 francs wasn't much but it was enough to get her board on a small boat or cart, depending on where she wanted to go. Picking up that mess of a revolutionary was turning out to be a good investment. She just had to keep them alive for long enough.

At that thought her stomach growled and she felt that strange sickness. They needed food, but to get it she would have to wait for him to wake up.

As she waited she wondered why she had given him that name Clere. It was a name she hadn't thought of in years. But suddenly it had appeared on the tip of her tongue. She thought of the real Clere. Eponine had thought she was the prettiest thing in the world. That blonde hair that seemed to bounce off of her shoulders. Her wide, bright blue eyes that were able to flutter at men in a way that would have them lining up. Clere had worked for Eponine's parents at the Old Tavern. Everything about that time had been sweeter but nothing as sweet as the memory of her. Clere had worked behind the bar, serving drinks and flirting with anything that moved. She had entranced the regulars and was the main attraction. Of course it was only now, when she looked back that Eponine recognised the reality. The something that quivered behind the bright smile. But she was still beautiful. Even when Eponine found her. Her vacant eyes and stilled body, she had still been beautiful. Her lips had still been stained with the bright red lipstick. The black mark she had always drawn above her lip remained perfectly in place. A beautiful dead girl.

She shook the memory out of her head. It was nothing more than a reminder. A reminder that if it's not them, it's you. Clere had been beautiful but dumb. Dumb enough to trust a man. And dumb enough to get killed by one.

Eventually Enjolras stirred and Eponine hopped onto her feet. "You hungry?" She'd asked already knowing the answer. He'd nodded and followed after her, scowling when she realised her plan. There wasn't much to pick from the pockets of these people but she made do. Expertly bumping and briefly touching, all the time smiling brightly, convincing the poor people that there was nothing to be suspicious of. "Barely two francs." She sighed after collecting as much as she could.

Enjolras looked accusingly at her but she ignored him. His withering, disapproving looks could go up his arse. He didn't understand. As much as he loved to preach compassion, he couldn't extend this to understand why she was doing this. Did it cross his mind that she would starve if she didn't?

They walked for a few more streets until she passed a small enough shop. They were almost at The Strip. She could tell by the Marks that were starting to infiltrate the streets. You could tell a Mark from his three piece suit and shifty look as he tried to blend in with the street vendors and callers. A Mark came to The Strip to find the pleasures he was forbidden at home. Gambling, girls and guns. That was the trade of The Strip. Suddenly Eponine wondered if innocent, upstanding Enjolras had ever traversed this side of town. It wouldn't surprise her.

The shop was owned by a local man and so she made Enjolras go up to the counter to buy a loaf of bread and pouch of water. She'd had to dig into her own money to buy the latter but it was something they were in desperate need for. They wouldn't be in a position to do anything but walk for the next few days.

Enjolras tore into the bread first, stuffing his face. "Slow down." Eponine chastised. "I'm not starving because you're a greedy pig."

He shot her a look before passing her the loaf. She had to admit she was tempted to tear into it herself. She hadn't eaten since the tiny pinch of bread she'd managed to scrounge the day before. The creature in her stomach yelled at her to eat more but she knew she had to pace herself.

"Where are we now?" Enjolras asked. It seemed to be the only thing he could say. If she hadn't of heard his lovely speech at the protest she would have sworn he was a mute.

"Just outside the Strip." She replied and he nodded. She knew it. He recognised the place. She glared at him imagining him and his friends drinking themselves blind and hiring out a girl to try. She swallowed the bubble of anger and tried to think about the best path for them to head on. There was no way around The Strip. It had been designed to be unmissable. To get to the other side, they would have to go through. That was dangerous for her.

"How are your legs feeling?" She asked Enjolras.

"Like hell, why?"

"How confident are you at climbing?"

It was quite entertaining watching his face go through such a range of emotion in such a short time. He seemed to splutter, as if his tongue felt so incensed at the words about to come out of it that it was waging a war with the rest of his mouth. "You want me to do what?"

She rolled her eyes, trying to hide her mirth. "It's not that high." He spluttered again. "Okay, it's high but I've done it a million times." He just continued to stare at the building. "And it's much safer for you." And for me, she added silently.

She was telling the truth, she'd used the roofs millions of times to get from one side to the other. It was dangerous but a confident foot would walk across easily. A large part of her knew his outrage was well-founded. But she didn't have another option. "You have to do this," She finally stated. "Or you lose me." There was more truth to that statement than she cared to divulge but he didn't need to know that.

"Let's just do it." He said after taking a deep breath. "Before I realise how stupid this is." Eponine smiled and began to climb.

The hardest bit was getting a good enough grip. The small grooves in between the brick wasn't the greatest climbing wall. But it was enough and if Enjolras was agile enough, he would make it. Eponine would have scaled it easily on her own. She had been doing this since she could remember. Even as a little girl she had felt the urge to climb. Everything just seemed a little clearer from higher up. The night she'd found Clere she had practically jumped up to the roof, needing to clear her lungs of the horrible stench. She had clutched to the chimney of the tavern and felt the wave of sobs take over her body. They hadn't found her until the next morning and by then she had calmed.

Enjolras was slow climbing, groaning and grunting as he pulled himself higher. She had to admit she was the smallest bit impressed. With his injuries, she was sure he wouldn't make it. Crossing over the roofs was Eponine's preferred option but if it had come to it, she wouldn't have made him struggle. But he was making good progress. It wasn't a huge climb and they made it up to the top in good time. Eponine felt the roof with her fingers and tested its strength before pulling herself over the top.

She looked back at Enjolras who had panic in his eyes. She saw his hand go slack and suddenly he was hanging, only held up by his right hand which was clawing at the roof desperately. Eponine launched forward and grabbed his arm with both hands. "Hold on!" She yelped.

"Pull me up!" He was shouting. "Pull me up! Pull me up!"

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah, that's what I'm trying to do you great big lump." His body was heavy and panic was spreading through her body. She wasn't going to be able to hold him for much longer. And if he fell from this height. Well, that was goodbye to the eight francs.

Her hands held tight to his forearm, feeling the fabric slip under her fingers. "You need to find your footing!" She told him, the panic rising and making her voice come out as a squeak.

Enjolras grunted and she felt him move his feet. "I can't." He said.

"If you don't, you'll die." She told him.

She watched him try again, his feet kicking against the wall as he struggled to get hold. "You can do it," She tried to encourage him but her arms were proving her wrong as she felt her grip slip a little. She wondered what he'd look like smashed against the pavement below him. But then she felt a give and looked into his eyes which suddenly looked jubilant.

He had found a grip and with that extra leverage, she was able to help him pull himself up. She pulled his arm before grabbing his waist and practically throwing him over her shoulder onto the roof.

He lay against the roof and the two of them panted, frantically trying to catch their breath. Suddenly she heard him let out a little laugh. "Are you okay there?" She asked and he looked at her, his chest rising and falling sharply; sweat plastering his face.

"That was ridiculous." He stated before letting out another chuckle, shaking his head resting on his arms.

"Have you ever thought about going on a diet?" She quipped, enjoying this changed mood. "You're as heavy as a boulder."

He grinned at her. Then let out a breath. "Do we have to move straight away?" He asked, turning to look at the view. The Strip did look a little less seedy from up here, it's why she liked coming up here so much. All you saw was the façade, businessmen going into innocent looking shops, women flirting with men as if it wasn't their job. The rush of people moving to and fro even looking a little like a small ocean. A current that washed through the narrow street. "I think we've earned a little breather." She said, moving to sit next to him. Their feet dangled over the edge of the roof.

"So where do you come from?" Enjolras asked. It seemed as if he was trying a little too hard to keep things light. She decided she would play along for a while.

"Here and there." She said.

He shook his head again. "Are you going to tell me anything?"

"I've told you my name." Eponine lied. "What else could you possibly need to know?"

"What's your favourite colour?" She gave him a look. "I'm just trying to pass the time more pleasantly." He said defensively.

"What's yours?" She asked.

He thought for a while. "I think it would have to be maroon." He eventually landed on. Eponine looked on in confusion. "Dark red." He said. "The colour of those trees in Siracourt Park. The trees that hang over the river?"

Eponine shook her head. "Don't know it."

"Well maybe when we're done you can go." Enjolras said. Eponine nodded.

And then they were back to the silence. She had to admit the conversation hadn't been terrible. When they talked like that she could pretend that he had half a brain in him.

"Where do you come from?" She asked.

He looked at her suspiciously. "Do you think it's wise to talk about that?"

Eponine shrugged. "I know you're richer than me. As long as you don't begin to preach I think I could stand to hear you talk."

He frowned. "You're one of the rudest people I've ever met."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment." Silence again.

Eponine stood up. "We should move on." She said before simply walking up to the bridge of the roof. All the houses in The Strip were connected so once you were on one roof, you were on them all. It was tricky going, balance was necessary and occasionally Enjolras wobbled behind her. "I didn't thank you for helping me back there." Enjolras called out after they passed the third roof. She didn't say anything. She knew she should, but she couldn't find the right words.

"Why don't you like protests?" He asked halfway across the fourth roof. Eponine stopped.

"Do you think it's wise to talk about that?" She put his words back at him.

"Yes." He said simply. "I want to know your thoughts."

"Why?" She said.

"Can't we just call it morbid curiosity?"

She muddled over it. There may be fun to be had with arguing with him. It would certainly pass the time. "I think you're words are pretty." She began. "But their hollow."

She turned to look at Enjolras who didn't look back. "Go on." He simply said.

Eponine focused on putting one foot in front of the other as she talked. "You talk of shackles and freedom; how silence enslaves us and we need to raise our voices to be heard." She wobbled a little and righted herself. "But what do words do to help me? How will your pretty words fill my stomach, or my pockets? It won't buy me a house and it won't get me a job." She heard a few sounds of discontent behind her but ploughed on. "You rich boys do this every few years. You come into our streets and talk about how we should be doing more to help ourselves. But you do nothing to really help us. I didn't see you handing out food or giving out money to the people who need it."

"I can't exactly give out money," Enjolras cut in. "It would cause a riot."

"And what happened yesterday, that wasn't a riot?" He stayed silent. "Okay," She conceded. "Maybe don't hand out money. But couldn't you do something real? Provide housing or spend money in the honest shops in Molins?" She sighed as they made their way onto the last roof. "All you do is stay in your little corner of Paris and ignore what's really happening. Every day."

"I know what's happening." Enjolras retorted, his voice clearly showed his annoyance. "I know that 98 percent of the population in Paris are living in poverty and the 1 percent own over three fourths of the money."

"You're statistics are lovely." Eponine cut in again. "But can you tell me any of those 98 percent's names? Can you show me where they are sleeping? You can read facts from a book all you like but when the reality is staring you in the face-you turn away." Enjolras tried to speak up but she cut him down with her final blow. "Don't think I didn't see how you flinched from that man whose clothes you wear on your back." She looked back at him and was happy to see that he looked a little ashamed. "You speak prettily Enjolras, but your actions disgust me."


	5. Chapter 5

5

Enjolras:

He knew it was his fault. He brought it up. He had literally poked the sleeping bear. But that didn't stop Clere's words from hurting more than the bruises that patterned his body. She didn't know anything. Revolutions were built on pretty words. It was pretty words that inspired people, made people take action. She had to have seen how the crowd had looked at him during the protest. He had lit a flame in their eyes and when they had all cried out with him he could tell that this was the right thing. He was helping them. Bringing them out of the sleep they had all been in. The sedated state in which they accepted their circumstances. His pretty words would show them that they deserved better.

He thought about saying all of this to her, but he knew she wouldn't hear it. And he didn't want to waste his words on someone who thought him to be repulsive.

They reached the last roof and any sense of jubilation he had felt when he'd reached the top had dropped from his body. He was tired, hungry and pissed. He wanted to get away from this girl and these streets. His body called out for his bed, any bed.

He watched Clere as she dropped down the side of the building, pushing a window open so that they wouldn't have to scale down the side of the building. Instead Enjolras just had to lower himself down to the window ledge. Eponine helped pull him in but instead of waiting for any thanks, she stalked off through the halls.

The room they were in looked like a strange bedroom. It took a few moments for it to dawn what kind of establishment they were in. He quickly brushed the roof dust off of him and walked out of the door into the dark hall. The walls had been painted a bright red and as he walked to the stairs he came into the path of an older woman who wore the colours of the establishment. She was holding the hand of a tall, heavily moustached man in a suit too fine for a place like this. The man smiled at him, a seedy smile that sent a wave of anxiety down his spine. The thought that Enjolras was a customer here repulsed him. He pushed past the couple and tried not to run down the stairs, he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs Clere was stood talking to a woman. The woman looked quite glamorous, a large green dress pooling around her. The gold detailed corset was pulled incredibly tight and the woman's breasts seemed to be pushed up to her chin. Her hair was what was most eye-catching however. Bright orange and twisted into an intricate bun that teetered, close to losing its battle with gravity. As he got closer he realised the woman was gripping Clere's arm so tight that the skin around her long fingers was turning red.

He moved closer and could make out the words. "I don't appreciate my girls running out on my little 'Ponine." The woman was hissing in her ear. "Now you will go out there and get twice as many Marks in here or you will get the lash." He watched Clere nod, her head down. It seemed odd to see her like this. She was usually so confident, obnoxiously so. This girl stood in front of him couldn't have possibly just argued with him so forcibly on the roof. The orange haired woman finally let Clere go and her eyes found his. She turned and walked out of the door. He followed her, unsure what would be waiting outside.

She was waiting for him in the alcove of the house. Her eyes seemed defiant and her chin jutted out more than it should do. "No quips?" She said as he stopped in front of her. "No smart remarks about how I should be bettering myself?"

"Of course not." He said and she scoffed childishly. She whipped around, looking at the crowd around them. "Are you still going to help me?" He asked.

"We had a deal didn't we?" She said as if that was an adequate response. "This way." And then she was leading him through the crowd. The Strip wasn't much longer than the line of houses but the crowd didn't thin out until ten minutes from the house. As soon as he could he sidled up to her and lowered his voice. "Are you sure you should still be doing this?" He asked. "You could get in trouble?"

"Oh really?" She bit back. "I wasn't aware of that." The sarcasm dripped out of her mouth and felt like a slap in his face.

"I was just trying to look out for you." He defended.

"But I don't need you to!" She practically yelled earning glances from the people who walked next to them. "Just give me the eight francs and your conscience can rest easy."

Enjolras felt like throwing her to the ground in frustration. He had never met someone so stubborn to help.

They walked on in silence. Enjolras still had no clue as to where they were. It was a little shameful, he conceded privately, that he had never been this far south. The difference was immediate. The Northmen stood out so clearly from the residents of the South. Northmen fashion was three piece suits with glaring waistbands and pocket-watches proudly displayed whenever they could be. The thinning hair was always pulled over with wax or grease and seemed to shine in the sunlight. The Southerners wore plain clothes. The men wore shirts that must have once been white but through years of working in the factories had turned grey or brown. Their skin was darker from time exposed in the sun and their faces all seemed to bear lines. The women wore simple skirts apart from the Putain who wore garish colours and silks which barely covered anything under the thin fabric. Enjolras felt ashamed to say his head had been turned by these women. He could see how easy it would be to fall into The Strip and never come out. He wondered how Clere had come to work there.

As they walked the houses started to thin out and greenery started to take over. He knew they were getting closer to Raicourt and the thought of this nightmare being over felt so sweet. Soon they were walking on grass rather than cobblestones and Enjolras' feet gave thanks to the small relief on his soles. In the greenery however it became clearer how deeply the clothes he wore smelt. It overtook his senses and he was thankful when Clere passed him some fruit she had managed to pinch from a vendor.

It did puzzle him. She claimed to hate his cause, claimed to be disgusted by him and yet she was feeding him, stopping when he asked and waiting as he winced over his injuries. He also noticed how something seemed to relax in her once they had left The Strip an hour behind them. Her shoulders seemed less hunched and he noticed that occasionally she would tip her head up towards the sky and breathe in deeply. Her long hair blew in the wind and he allowed himself a moment to realise that she was quite pretty.

The guilt settled in at the same time his legs screamed for them to stop for the night. He felt they had walked a lot further today and was encouraged by the emptiness of the fields surrounding them. "I'm sorry." He said eventually when Clere took a moment to rest against a large oak tree.

She frowned at him. He carried on. "I'm sorry if you feel I have been insensitive."

Clere rolled her eyes. "Oh don't worry Enjolras. My opinion will just be a vague memory in a few days." She gave a soft smile and he decided not to push it any further. She was right, they wouldn't be spending too much longer together and if she was willing to let it go, he would try to too. They maybe walked for another mile across a wheat field before Clere decided they should set up for the night. "Do you know how to make a fire?" She asked.

"Do you think we should be making a fire?" He replied. "We are wanted."

She nodded looking like she was indulging a child. "I'm aware of that thank you but I'd rather be in prison, alive than frozen on a field, dead." Enjolras hadn't argued with her logic and walked to find some wood that was dry enough to use for fire.

When he got back she had cleared some space in the field and they worked together to get the fire started. She hadn't been surprised when he had told her he had no idea how to start a fire but she'd shown him how to rub the twigs together. It took many tries but eventually he got one started and added it to the pile of burning wood that Clere had already created. They sat on opposites of the fire, content to just warm their frozen extremities in silence. The warmth was welcome, it was just past the Summer Season so while it wasn't cold during the day, at night there was a fair drop in the temperature. The fire couldn't last forever though and so Enjolras laid himself down, deciding to sleep while the fire was still blazing. He looked confused though when Clere walked over to his side of the fire.

"We have to sleep close together." She said simply sitting down next to him. "Body heat." She explained although she didn't need to. It had crossed Enjolras' mind of course but it wasn't something he wanted to suggest for fear of any unintended connotations. Enjolras simply nodded in reply and watched as she laid down beside him, shuffling backwards until her back touched his front. Enjolras tried to think about it logically-it made sense for them to sleep like this. It was purely survival. But when he felt her pressed up against him, another survival instinct began to kick in.

"Eponine." Clere said suddenly.

"What?" Enjolras asked.

"My name," She said, her voice a low mumble. "It's not Clere." Enjolras wasn't quite sure what to make of this new information. "My name is Eponine." They lapsed into an awkward silence as he felt her whole body move with each breath. "I thought you should probably know."

"Well," He said after a moment. "It's nice to meet you Eponine." He felt her laugh vibrate through her body.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Joly:

Joly was worried. Grantaire may have finally slipped into madness. They hadn't managed to find out much about the girl from the man. They only knew the name she had called herself. Clere. No surname, no real description other than pretty and brunette. He felt the frustration Grantaire was feeling. There was hope now where there hadn't been yesterday. They knew he got out of the protest alive but everything else was uncertain. They had stomped over to the records office and found fifty Clere's living in and around Biding and the Molins District. They didn't know if she was old, young, good or bad.

Grantaire took out his frustration the way he expressed every emotion, intense drinking. Joly sat and watched him waltz around the café eyes closed and mouth upturned in a blissful smile. He had downed his sixth whiskey and Joly knew he was a lost cause for tonight. They would get no sense out of him today.

Madness seemed to be spreading throughout the Friends as Combeferre held court discussing all of his brilliant ideas to truly inspire change. Joly fought the urge to roll his eyes. They should be focusing on finding Enjolras but when the boys had come to the Friends with their discovery Combeferre had simply dismissed it. "That gets us no closer to finding him than we were yesterday. We need to focus our energies somewhere we can do good." Joly wondered if in reality, Combeferre just enjoyed having all of the eyes on him. He was certainly a good speaker, intelligent with a kindness that Enjolras probably lacked. But there was a spark in the marble man that Joly didn't see in Combeferre.

So he distanced himself from the group and sat with Coufreyac who was trying desperately to flirt with the pretty barmaid. "Henrietta," He was saying. "You know your true feelings towards me, just as I do."

"Oh really," Henrietta played along. "And what are my real feelings little boy?"

"You're hopelessly in love with me." Coufreyac sighed and Henrietta let out a laugh. She had dark red hair that fell below her shoulder blades and Joly had sometimes wondered whether she curled her hair with one of those strange irons, or whether her hair was made up of natural ringlets.

"Oh if only," Henrietta said wistfully. "Alas my heart has been stolen by the scoundrel to your right." Bahorel had a good nature and allowed Coufreyac to fall over Henrietta, as long as she didn't give any indication the feelings were reciprocated. Bahorel now smiled and leant over the counter to plant a firm kiss on his girl's lips. Joly watched as Coufreyac's face fell for just a fraction of a second. He liked to play it off as a silly joke, but he truly thought he was in love with her. Joly wasn't so sure. You didn't fall in love with the girl of your best friend.

Grantaire eventually crashed over and gave a cheer as Bahorel pulled Henrietta onto his lap. "Good for you my man!" He yelled and Joly winced at the volume of his drunken slur. "I've had a thought." He said more soberly, facing Joly directly. "What if we do nothing?" The drunk boy started to laugh hysterically. "I mean, it's hopeless. We won't find the girl and we won't find him." Grantaire's face drooped. "I won't find him."

Joly sighed recognising the signs. Every few months Grantaire would come crashing into Joly's flat drunk out of his mind and moaning about something to do with Enjolras. The boy was a goner, lost in the pretty words of an even prettier man. "We'll find him." Joly said encouragingly, not sure if he was telling the truth.


	7. Chapter 7

7

Eponine:

Eponine woke early again. It seemed in the past few months she took hours to fall asleep and woke with the first light. She'd had to resort to using copious amounts of powder and lipstick to distract from the growing bags around her eyes. Although Madame Azire could barely care about any of the girls' health. Just as long as the patrons of le Charlemagne were happy, she didn't care what happened to you. Eponine felt Enjolras' breath on her neck and she tried to suppress the tears that prickled at her eyes. It was that feeling. The feeling she had woken up to for too long. That feeling of a strange man with his hands on her. A strange man lying too close to her. She felt trapped, she could almost see the paisley walls form in front of her and flashes of faces whipped past her eyes. She squeezed them shut trying to see anything else but that sickeningly familiar image of a shadowy face staring down at her, hot breath coating her face, clogging her nose and mouth, making her feel like she was going to choke. She gasped, feeling those phantom hands around her throat again.

She couldn't take it any longer and rolled away from the warmth of Enjolras. It was still far too cold to be separate but she couldn't bear it. Not now that her fatigue of the night before had subsided a little. Tiredness lessened the sting a little and she wondered if that's why she no longer slept. It made everything easier to take. She clutched her knees to her chest, still trying to calm her breath. She stared at the sky above her, watching the pink tinged clouds fill the sky preceding the main feature. The sun poked its head above the clouds eventually and she cherished the small amount of warmth it brought her.

And then Enjolras was waking up. She could tell because his eyelids fluttered a little and his right leg kicked out. Eponine didn't know why she had learnt that about him. She didn't know why she told him her name. He wasn't supposed to know anything about her. Now he knew where she worked and what she was called, he could find her now. A dreadful thought reared its head. What if one day Enjolras became another Mark? A panic rose in her as she watched him open his eyes. Maybe he'd want to dip his toe back in the rough side like he had done that one time. And he'd think of that place and perhaps he would give her a visit.

"Morning." He said, his voice lower and grittier in the early morning. She didn't reply. She wouldn't become an interesting weekend he would want to revisit in later years when his fantasy of revolution faded away. He raised his eyebrows a little but accepted her silence. Eponine worked as he sat. She scooped up the remains of the fire and dispersed of it as best she could. The ashes were carried by the wind and spread out among the field planting themselves in between the leaves.

"We should leave now." She said once she was happy with how they had left the field. It was clear something had spent the night here but it couldn't be traced. She hoped. Enjolras nodded and pulled himself to his feet. It was clear his body was sore as he winced as he stood. Eponine also had to admit that her feet weren't happy about this journey. They felt tender as she walked on them, hoping that the skin would harden soon. And plus, if everything went well, this would be their last day.

They crossed the field by the time the sun made its full appearance and now they entered a small farming village Eponine thought was called Cambounet. The small farm houses looked so different from the city buildings, all grey and uniform. The farm houses were made out of white stone and had beautiful thatched roofs. Small slips of hay melted away from the roofs and fluttered around Eponine and Enjolras as they walked. Eponine found herself imagining what life would be like here. Simple but safe, tending to the farm, feeding children and a warm bed. It was almost what the Tavern had been to her as a child. It had been situated in the city but it really had a rustic feel to it. Her mother had often boasted about that fact to the people who drank there. Even the drunkards who threw up on the floors and stumbled around didn't ruin it for Eponine as a child. She had loved it all. In the kitchens Eponine used to help wash the floors, sometimes tying brushes to her feet and skating along the wood. But it didn't last. Her world had come crashing down with that letter.

To this day she wasn't sure what it had said but she remembered the look on her father's face as he read it. Thunder crossed his brows and it had taken root there, spreading to the rest of his face; darkening his eyes and turning down the corners of his lips. He was never the same after that day. He became surly, never smiled and snapped at his wife and children. Found the old songs they had once sung together annoying, shouted at Eponine when she tried to climb up into his lap. He soon gave up on shouting and simply slapped her away. The feeling of her Father's palm on her cheek still smarted. Two months after the letter they lost the Tavern. And that was when the real nightmare began.

She tried to shake off the memories as they walked. She hated it. Since she had woken up she had been plagued. A thought crossed her mind that perhaps she would always be running from these memories. No matter how far she got from The Strip or Molins, it would always be with her. She couldn't accept that. It was far too bleak.

"What do you study?" She asked and she thought she saw Enjolras actually jump at the sound of her voice.

"Uh…" he stuttered before righting himself. "Everything really. Science, maths, politics." She should have guessed.

"And do you like it?" She asked, not fully interested but wanting anything that would tether her to the ground.

"It's fine. It can be fine." He trailed off a little. "Actually I was thinking of dropping out."

"Oh?" She asked.

"I want to focus on the cause." He quickly added. "I know you're rolling your eyes at that but I don't care." Eponine laughed a little at his accurate prediction. "I've been thinking about what you said. And I've decided that you might be right with some things."

"Could that be a hint of conceit I hear?" She quipped.

"Possibly." He admitted. "I should have witnessed what has been happening sooner. And I think creating actual chance may involve pretty words backed up by real action." Eponine smiled. "But that doesn't mean I will come seeking your counsel on every matter." She nodded.

They walked in silence, past a few more houses. Eventually Enjolras called for them to rest again, it seemed his leg was giving him a bit of trouble and had stiffened up. He lay on the grass, his leg stretched into the sky, looking ridiculous. Eponine watched him with amusement until she heard it. The unmistakable click of a gun.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Enjolras

Enjolras watched as Eponine whipped around, her back crouching as she clearly dipped into a fighting stance. But it would do no good. Two men stood behind them, guns drawn at them both. No way out of this. The man nearest to Eponine was clearly the oldest. His hair was streaked with grey lines and he had the long worn skin of a farmer, his blue shirt hung on his shoulders, baring his chest as the material blew about in the wind. The boy next to him can't have been much younger than Enjolras, he had the same build, strong arms and a thick sturdy body. "Get up!" The older man barked. His voice had the same quality as a little terrier pup. High pitched but with a bite behind it.

Enjolras immediately pulled himself up to his feet, wincing slightly at the pain in his side. "I'm so sorry," Eponine was saying, her voice growing more high-pitched. "We didn't know we were on any land, we don't come from here. Please, don't hurt us!" Her girlish voice now grew higher until she was crying in front of them, literal on her knees pleading. Enjolras wondered whether this was real or another character she kept in her back pocket.

To her credit, the boy's features seemed to soften. "Da, I don't think they're going to be any trouble."

"Quiet Jacque." The Father bit at him. "Trespassers are never innocent."

Jacque seemed to lose any fight in him and followed his Father's orders to pick up Eponine and drag her by her arm to their farm house a half mile from the field. Enjolras kept his head down. He had no idea how far his celebrity had spread. But if they found out he was wanted, they would waste no time to hand him over to the police. Eponine was keeping up her scared girl act. "Where are you taking us?" She wailed. "Oh please, you can't kill me my child needs me! We were just going to find some food, she's out there waiting for me!"

Jacque kept his eyes trained on the house in front of him, not breaking even when Eponine stumbled and crashed into the earth. He bent down to pick her up and Enjolras watched as Eponine mumbled something barely audible into his ear. The performance was really quite astounding, she had transformed into this new person. It made Enjolras wonder which version was the truth. Clere, Eponine, or this whining creature?

They eventually made it to the house and Enjolras was thrown into an empty pen. It smelt of stale urine and horse shit but he couldn't do anything about that. Eponine was taken somewhere else and he felt a sense of sudden panic. He hadn't been thinking of the real danger she was in. A girl in distress was still a girl and some men didn't care if their women cried or even screamed. Distressing images filled his head and made his blood pump harder around his body. He stood and looked around, hoping for some way to escape. It wouldn't be too hard to climb over the wooden gates of the enclosure but then what? The only way out was the way they came in and, as Enjolras watched, Jacque came out of the house with two hounds on his tail. Enjolras watched as the dogs marched over to the gate and sat at attention, their tails flat on the ground and their teeth bared. No way out.

Jacque barely gave him a glance as he walked back into the crumbling farm house. It didn't look as nice as the ones they had passed, half of the building looked like it had already collapsed and the rest of the building looked like it was soon to follow. Dirty troughs lined the building and Enjolras wondered where the animals were? He strained his ears and couldn't even hear the cluck of a single chicken. He was suddenly sure that this wasn't a farm.

He didn't know how long he had been waiting, the sun was still glaring and Enjolras felt his skin burn as he sat, completely exposed in the sunshine. He was desperate for some food or water and the intense ache he felt in his throat didn't subside. Eventually Jacque came out, "Stand up!" The boy had barked, his best attempt at an impression of his Father. But it didn't pack the same punch. Enjolras did as he was told. There was no point arguing with a man who had a gun trained at your head. Jacque led him into the farm house and immediately Enjolras' stomach dropped.

Eponine was knelt on the floor, her nose swollen and blood dripping down to her lip. She was bent double, clutching her stomach and retching. He tried to conceal the panic he was feeling, knowing that any sign of weakness would be used against him, but he couldn't help it. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He started to panic, his breathing coming out heavy and fast, as if it couldn't catch up with itself. "What did you do to her?"

The Father scoffed, "Oh don't give me tha'" His accent was thick. "You think a Thenardier can't take a good beating." He actually let out a sharp laugh. "I know her Da' and trust me, this is a walk in the park."

"What do you want?" Enjolras asked.

"Nothing from you," The man said and Enjolras couldn't hide his surprise. "You are free to go. It's the girl we need. Turns out this little scum ran away from home a few years back and her Da' is awful keen to be reunited with his pretty little girl." Eponine looked up at Enjolras, tears in her eyes. She looked a mess, her hair was covering half of her face and her breathing was clearly laboured. He wondered what injuries she had sustained. He was hit with an overwhelming feeling of guilt, he should have tried to help her.

"I'm not leaving without her." Enjolras said, attempting to make his tone level.

"Oh I think you are pretty boy," The Father said. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Eponine mouth something to Jacque. "Your dirty clothes can't disguise you that much, your face has been plastered around the city and you're worth a pretty penny." Enjolras tried not to look as Jacque moved towards Eponine. "Now I was quite happy settlin' for Madame Thenardier over there, but I will add you to my bounty if I need to."

And suddenly Eponine was on her feet, she launched herself at Jacque and put all her force behind whacking her forehead against his. He wasn't knocked out but he was certainly dazed and in a flash she had his gun. "You little brat!" The Father had shouted when she'd made her move and he'd turned to shoot at her. Enjolras didn't wait for another second. He jumped at the man, securing his arms around his neck and pulling as hard as he could. It threw off the old man and his shot blasted a hole in the ceiling. The man kicked out at Enjolras and landed a blow to his calf but Enjolras didn't let go.

Eponine had Jacque on the floor but the shots had alerted the dogs who came running in, barking wildly and snapping at anyone who wasn't their master. Enjolras tried to kick the dog away but it made no difference and in the distraction, the old man sank his teeth into Enjolras' arm. He yelped out in pain and his grip loosened. The old man had rounded on him in a flash, punching him across the face and knocking him to the ground. Another shot rang out and Enjolras heard a dog whimper.

Enjolras was still struggling under the weight of the man. His whole body screamed out in agony as the man's bony knees dug into Enjolras' abdomen and his hand clasped around his neck. Enjolras gasped for breath, his airways constricted. He could feel the pressure build around his ears, could hear the blood pump around suddenly too much blood in such a small space. "Let him go!" He heard Eponine scream but that didn't seem to do anything. And then another shot rang out. The old man's eyes stared into Enjolras' and he had a strange grin on his face as black spots started to fill Enjolras' vision. And then the face was gone, and Enjolras could feel air rush into his lungs again. He gasped for air and sat up, trying to understand what had happened.

Eponine stood in front of him, gun in her hand. Behind her lay Jacque, his chest rising and falling slowly while blood rushed out of a bullet wound on his leg. The dogs ran around their owner, licking his face and willing him to open his eyes. Enjolras' didn't want to think about the boy's chances. Enjolras looked to his left and saw the old man, sprawled out on the floor, face down in the hard ground. "Are you okay?" She said. Her nose was still swollen and she seemed to be having difficulty breathing but a fire was lit behind her eyes. Enjolras nodded and Eponine allowed herself the briefest of smiles. "We need to go," She told him. "Now." She added before running out of the room.

Enjolras did her best to keep up with her but she didn't seem to be moving towards the exit. Instead she ran right and Enjolras followed her, wondering where she was going. And then he understood. The horses didn't look well, they looked underfed and tired, but they would be quicker than walking. Eponine helped Enjolras up onto the black horse and she took the smaller brown one. She leapt up easily onto its back and gave a kick so that the horse started moving. Enjolras tried to copy her actions and after a few tries, the horse began to trot.

Adrenaline pumped through his body and he felt his arms shake as he tried to process everything that had just happened. "Are you okay?" He asked Eponine after they had passed the farm houses' gate.

She nodded but didn't look at him. "I'm fine." She replied. He wasn't sure he believed her. The fear he had seen in her eyes when she'd been on the floor had looked too convincing. She was a good actress but he wasn't sure she was that good. They rode in silence, it was uncomfortable to be sat on the horse without a saddle but his legs were enjoying the small break.

"Who is Thenardier?" He asked tentatively as the sky grew dark. It seemed that they would be riding through the evening. He watched as she obviously bristled at the name.

"It's me." She told him. "It's my name."

Enjolras felt a slight annoyance rise in his chest. "So we have another name now. How many more are we going to have Thenardier, or is it Eponine, or is it Clere? I can't keep up!"

She didn't say anything. "Eponine Thenardier." She muttered. "That is my real name, I told you last night."

Enjolras paused, trying to decide whether this new name was worth trusting. The name Thenarider did ring a bell in the back of his mind. He wondered if Eponine had once been like him, living in one of the courts not far from him. He could almost imagine her in a dress like the girls back home wore. The large skirts that pooled out from the small waist. He could imagine her hair washed and brushed and styled. He thought she would probably be the prettiest girl in Court. Not that she would get any suitors with the mouth on her.

"Why did you run away from home?" He asked.

Eponine just let out a laugh. "Oh no," She said. "You are not getting anything else out of me, pretty boy." It seemed the only insult she knew was to call him 'pretty'. He rolled his eyes and let them walk on in silence. As the time went on, he could hear Eponine's breathing become harsher, she was rasping. Her breathe whistling as she breathed in, and shuddering when she breathed out.

"You're hurt." He told her. "We should stop and find somewhere to sleep for the night."

She just shook her head but didn't reply. He drew up his horse to hers and suddenly noticed how the blood hadn't clotted, she was drooping slightly on the horse and her eyelids looked as if they were about to close. He grabbed onto her horse and brought it to a stop just as she slid forward. It was awkward but he managed to catch her. He balanced her and then slid from his horse before pulling her into his arms. She was lighter than she ought to be. Her breathing was shallow and Enjolras felt a bubble of trepidation rise to his throat.


End file.
